All the other fiddly bits
by Liquid Ink
Summary: Set at the same time as "I heard the Jackal.." There are always things I want to write, but can't plausibly put into the main story. So they will become a series of one-offs, just for amusement. You don't need to read them to enjoy the main story - these are the other bits and pieces. The Smith siblings will feature frequently, as they are mine and I can't resist playing with them.
1. My favorite colour

So my muse has been running at full bore these last two days – must be over fuelled by so many cookies...Kiki, you know who you are. (Although, being British, I keep wanting to say biscuit, my apologies) Set somewhere in the 2 days between chapter 16 & 18. This is a first of who knows how many – enjoy, I hope.

My favourite colour...

Jane had come up to London for a meeting with Major Ferguson, regarding some of the experimental things she wanted him to test with the troops. Afterwards, she decided to look up Josh while she was there. Turns out he was off duty and they commandeered the common room sofa with tea and biscuits. Idle conversation filled their time, until Jane introduced a subject that she knew would have her brother up in arms, in an instant.

"So..." Said Jane blandly, reaching for another biscuit. "I've decided that I'm going to do it."

She popped it into her mouth and chewed while Josh choked on his tea and looked at her in horror.

"Are you mad?"

"No. But I'm doing it."

"No you are not." Josh issued the command in his best drill sergeant tones.

She gave him a mulish expression and the middle finger.

"It's mine; I can do whatever I want with it. Besides, it's not like it's important."

"It is!" he protested. "It's more important than you're giving it credit for."

By now they were both shouting, and other residents of the barracks decided to steer clear of the latest Smith argument. More than a few speculated on who was going to get their way with this particular argument. She shrugged and continued drinking her tea, looking at him over the rim of her mug.

"Jane," he pleaded. "You really can't do this. It's so much a part of you."

"Exactly." She scowled. "It's mine and I can do away with it if I want to."

"But what about your promise to mum?"

Jane sighed and pretended a deep and abiding interest in the bottom of her mug. She was kind of hoping that he wouldn't remember that conversation. But her hopes were now broken, like a pile of crumbs. Putting her mug back on the tray, she rubbed between her eyes.

"Well?" demanded Josh. "Don't you remember that you promised mum that you'd wait until you got married?"

"I know." She said through clenched teeth. "But you don't know how hard it's become."

"Please Jane, don't" said her brother gently. "I know that it's hard and difficult but it'll be so worth it on that day, I promise you."

She sighed again, feeling bad from the first class guilt trip that her brother was taking her on. And then she felt so frustrated that he just didn't understand where she was coming from. And of course, her temper rose to the surface.

"You don't know how hard it is!" she snapped. "You couldn't possibly understand."

"I'm just saying," he started.

But she cut him off, getting up off the sofa. Since he wouldn't listen, she'd have to make her point in more obvious manner.

"When was the last time you actually saw it?" she demanded.

"umm, I think it was, well.." he stammered, not really knowing how to answer this without earning himself a few bruises.

"Exactly!" she shouted. "You don't know how hard it is to sleep at night."

He stared up at her, not knowing how to persuade her not to go ahead with her plan, because he knew that she'd regret the instant that it was over. He stood up as well, and put a hand on her shoulder. She shrugged it off, saying angrily:

"You take a good look!"

She glanced around to make sure that the room was clear, and reached back to pull the pins out of the ever present bun on the back of her head. A quick jerk of her hands sent pins flying and a wealth of thick auburn hair cascading down her back, coming to rest somewhere near her waist. It was shot through here and there by strands of lighter colour, making an altogether very different picture of the woman that most of Hellsing were familiar with.

Josh whistled with male appreciation and then nodded.

"You're right, I didn't realise it had gotten so long."

"It smothers me when I sleep, attacks me like a wet blanket in the shower, it's a beast." She complained, noticing that her brother had not stopped looking a t her hair.

"It looks just like mums." He said wistfully.

Jane's heart gave a painful thump and she knew then that she was defeated and that she would not be cutting her hair anytime soon. She couldn't bear to see the disappointment in her brother's eyes. She shook her head ruefully and said:

"You win."

She was practically suffocated by his hug and she banged on his back after a moment.

"Alright you clot. I still need to breathe."

"Same old Jane." He grinned.

"Sod off and help me find my pins so I can get this lot back in its cage."

The pair paced the carpet, looking for the many pins that she had dislodged in her frustration. Suddenly Seras burst into the room calling:

"Josh, Major Ferguson is...oh." she stopped her rush, and stood staring.

At the same time, Jane was reaching down for a pin, when she noticed a large black boot appear in front of her. A white gloved hand beat her to the pin and she closed her eyes for a moment, knowing she was going to have to make nice when all she wanted to do was hide under the sofa. Inwardly cursing in three languages, she tried to put on a bland expression as she looked up.

Alucard looked Jane full in the face as she took the proffered pin from his fingers. She murmured her thanks and was about to turn away, when he took up a lock of her hair in the same hand, rubbing it between his fingers. She stared at him, her hand automatically reaching for her sidearm, when he brushed the tip of it under his nose and said in a low tone that only she heard.

"Red - my favourite colour."

THE END

(Speaking as someone that had hair so long I sat on it, I can honestly say – it attacks you in your sleep and we wont speak of clogged shower drains.)


	2. How does he see in this?

Authors note: As much as I love Alucard – that hat always gives me the giggling horrors. And so I though it deserved a little attention of its own.

How _**does**_ he see in this?

Sir Integra was studying a document when she walked into her office and so she didn't notice it at first. It was only after she had sat down and started to reach for her phone when she caught a glimpse of red out the corner of her eye. In the windowsill where Alucard normally loitered, was his hat.

* That's odd.* she thought. *I know that he's not here at the moment, so why is_ that_ here?*

It was a rare thing for Integra's curiosity to get the better of her but somehow she couldn't resist getting up and going over to the window. Ever aware of Alucard's propensity for jump-scares, she gingerly reached out and picked it up with two fingers – kind of like she would hold a dead rat by its tail.

*It's even bigger close up.* She mused.

Having established that the oversized headgear wasn't going to suddenly spout teeth and start snapping away, she grew bolder in her inspection. She turned it around, flipped it over and generally tried to understand the appeal of it.

Thoughtfully, she looked at her office door and stepped a little further out of sight of anyone that might be walking past. With an impish smile, she popped the hat on her head – where it promptly covered her eyes.

"How does he see with this thing on?" she muttered, tilting it so that she had some vision. "Is he trying to give himself a handicap in battle?"

With her shifting head, the fedora kept insisting on sliding down her face and eventually she tried lifting her chin and look down her nose. She realised then that this was Alucard's general pose – looking down on everything.

"That's because he's so bloody tall." She complained to the empty room.

A devilish lack of good judgement must have been running rampant that evening because Integra then proceeded to do the best impression that she could of the sarcastic fiend that was her servant. Shoving her hands into her pockets she stalked around the far end of the room and then came back and slouched into the windowsill.

"You don't let me kill enough monsters." She growled belligerently, pitching her voice as low as she could. "It's so boring to be cooped up here in that musty old basement."

Getting back on her feet, she turned and looked out the window at the brightly shining moon; her hands still in her pockets and her head tilted as far back as it could go.

"What a wonderful night." She did her best to emulate that sardonic tone that irked and amused her at the same time. "It would be so nice to take a walk, maybe find someone to drink."

She was thinking up a new line when a soft cough at the door brought her back to reality with a screeching halt. Spinning round, the hat promptly fell over her face again and she snatched it off and hid it behind her back. Of course this wasn't very effective as the damn thing was so wide - it stuck out on both sides of her.

"Your tea, Sir Integra."

Walter carried the tray up to the desk, as serene as always. To anyone else looking, his face gave no sign that he had seen or heard anything untoward, however Integra knew him well enough to notice the twitching muscles at the corner of his mouth as he repressed his smile.

"Thank you Walter."

She walked away from the window back to her desk, negligently tossing the hat back where she found it as she went. Taking her seat, she allowed Walter to pour and took the proffered cup.

"Will there be anything else?" he enquired blandly.

"Not this evening, thank you." She murmured, pretending to be engrossed in her cup, all the time wondering how much of her performance he had seen.

"Then I'll just tidy up here and be on my way."

Walter picked up a pile of correspondence that was due to be posted, a report for the archives and as he walked out, he used his fluid grace to pass the window and pick up the hat, all in one sinuous movement. He gave a short bow to his master and left the room. He heard hissed curses as went down the hall and he gave into his urge to grin – although he prudently did not allow his laughter to escape until he was well downstairs in the basement.

His merriment subsiding, he paused outside of Alucard's door and contemplated the offending hat. With a quick glance up the corridor to ensure solitude, he plopped the fedora onto his head, where it promptly covered his eyes as well.

"She's right, how _does_ he see in this thing?"


	3. I'm not asking

Authors note: I have always wondered about the reference to Walter coming back from South America and this just jumped out of the muse bag and onto the page.

I'm not asking.

No matter where he had been, having lived in many places across the world, Walter C Dornez was an Englishman through and through and had thrown himself body and soul into the position of the Hellsing Butler. Unfortunately, during his long tenure at the manor, he had gained a reputation amongst some of the staff that although he was not a vampire – he wasn't human either. His unassailable calm in the face of chaos gave the impression that ice water ran in his veins and his ability to project menace and mayhem with a single smile had only added to the legend.

However, despite all that was said about him, Walter was very much a human being, with warm blood and all the emotions that came with it. And like all human beings, he had a vice or two – one of which he fully intended to indulge in; now that it was his evening off.

He dressed with great care and with one last satisfied look in the mirror; he donned his coat and let himself out of the back entrance, avoiding contact with all of the night staff. He had requested that one of the Jaguars be available to him and it was waiting at the stairs, keys in the ignition. He enjoyed the throaty rumble of the engine as he headed to the city proper. It started raining as he drove through the London streets, and he slowed to avoid splashing the pedestrians that were still going about their business, despite the weather. As he continued to drive deeper into the city however, the number of people on the sidewalks dwindled and soon no one was there to watch the maroon car pull smoothly up in front of a short set of steps, that led up to a set of doors with frosted glass panels.

The opaque glass however, had not impaired the view from inside, for as the car door swung open, a young man was already waiting with an umbrella while his partner took the keys to go and park the car elsewhere.

"Good evening Mr Dornez, such a pleasure to see you here tonight."

"Mr Dornez, we thought that you had abandoned us for somewhere else, it's been far too long."

"Walter you cad, I thought you'd never come back to deliver on your promise."

The doors led into a small antechamber where another young man was waiting to take hats, coats and wet umbrellas. As he was divested of his coat, he was surrounded by a small group of men and women all trying to talk to him at once. Before he could reply to any of the comments tossed his way – the group was scattered by the arrival of the manager, a short man that fairly quivered with pent up energy.

"Mr Dornez." His deep voice was at odds with his small frame. "I have your usual table waiting for you.

As he was escorted towards the back of the room, he passed a highly polished mahogany bar, small dinner tables decked in snowy white linen and a small but highly talented band. He cast his eyes across the room and was pleased to see that quite a few of his regular partners were there that evening. He nodded several times as he was greeted by the other patrons and exchanged small talk but never stood still, unwilling to be drawn in to join another group. He was there to amuse himself and no other this evening.

The manager led the way towards one of a few small padded booths tucked away in the back of the room, where one could sit and unobtrusively watch the floor. The table in the middle booth sported a 'reserved' marker, which he whisked away as he grumbled: "You've been gone for far too long."

"I'm afraid that it comes down to work before pleasure James." sighed Walter as he took off his jacket before sliding onto the padded seat. "And we have been so busy of late with the importing of fruit."

A disbelieving snort met that comment and he was left to settle himself comfortably. He knew that soon rich Columbian coffee would arrive and he promised himself that he would drink at least two cups before doing anything else.

He leaned back into the plush cushions as the coffee arrived and was poured. Inhaling the deep and smoky scent, he removed his gloves before lifting the cup. As the band struck up into another spicy number, he watched the couples come to the floor and lose themselves as they danced the tango.

It had been pure chance that he'd found the dance hall – something he believed had died out years ago. A meeting with one of his information brokers had brought him there and he had heard the band practising, music that he hadn't heard for years. He had always known the basics of ballroom dancing but during his time in South America, he had gained a new appreciation for it, along with some very smooth moves. Following his ears had led him inside, a meeting with the manager to apply for membership and Walter's desire to be able to dance again was filled.

He enjoyed his coffee as his eyes roved over the swirls of movement and colour before him. A few of his bolder partners approached him with their cards, which he marked with the dances of his choice, but only those after nine o'clock. Until then he intended to drink good coffee, enjoy conversation with James and let the music flow though him – washing away all of cares that had come with the last few weeks.

All the members there were appropriately dressed, men in sharp suits and silk shirts, the ladies in sweeping evening dresses, interspersed here and there with some of the more scandalously skimpy dance costumes. Walter himself was in a charcoal pinstripe with an ice blue shirt, waistcoat, no tie and no gloves.

Eventually it was time and he sought out his first partner – it was Cynthia, the one that had called him a cad when he had arrived. He vaguely remembered a promised Viennese waltz that clearly, had never happened. They took their positions and she smiled up at him.

"We really thought something awful had gone wrong since you stayed away for so long."

He returned the smile but offered no apologies for his absence. In fact, when he was at the club, he actually said very little. This had earned him a certain amount of curiosity since his dancing spoke volumes about him.

His bare hand on her backless gown allowed him to feel the smoothness of her skin, the small even bumps of her spine and the warmth of her body, which grew as they moved along with the music. He had received many a proposition from his partners and occasionally had taken one or two of the single ladies up on their offers – although he was scrupulously careful to ensure that he returned to the manor well before anyone could notice that he had stayed out. Doing the walk of shame with Alucard in the same building was asking for a lifetime of ribbing.

He moved through dance after dance, the foxtrot, the waltz, a tango or two and the salsa somewhere in between. Eventually his promised dances came to an end and he retired to his booth to order a fresh pot of coffee, and just enjoy the moment. But before he did that, there was something else that drew his attention. The booth next to him was occupied by a young lady that appeared to have no set partner, although many a man approached to request a dance. Curiously she turned them all down. Eventually the requests tapered off and then stopped coming altogether. As the last rejected partner stalked off, she sagged slightly into the cushions and Walter wasn't sure if she was relieved or disappointed. As he sipped coffee, he watched her watching the dancers and came to the conclusion that she was dearly wanted to join in but there was something stopping her.

When James came around, he quietly asked about his neighbour.

"Ah yes, you have not had a chance to meet Sarah. Come, I'll introduce you."

He took Walter over to her table and made the appropriate introductions. Her reply was polite, but a little on the chilly side. She turned her attention back to the floor, clearly indicating that she had no wish to make further conversation.

The two men returned to their seats and James began speaking in a quiet voice.

"She was moving up the professional ladder. I think she would have gone far if she hadn't broken an ankle when she fell off chair while changing a light bulb."

Walter pulled a face, understanding what that would mean to her professional career plans. But her actions still puzzled him.

"I'm assuming that the rehabilitation went well as she still comes here."

"She comes but she won't dance. Nice girl, but she's just tormenting herself there. She's refused every man that has asked for a dance. To date, no one has ever come close to getting her near the floor."

James finished his coffee and gave a shrug: "Me, I think her confidence has gone. It's a shame, she was magnificent to see."

With that off-hand remark, James rose and made his way towards the bar, but not before quietly opening the side door. Walter had already come to the same conclusion as his friend and he decided that her self-flagellation had gone on long enough. He looked over the list of upcoming music and waited for a sedate waltz. Just before it was to start, he rose and stepped lightly over to the next booth.

"I apologise for disturbing you Miss Harper, but this simply will not do."

Sarah jerked in surprise at the sound of his voice and then realised that no matter how well spoken, she had just been admonished by a complete stranger. She had heard of him, everyone there knew of Walter C Dornez – the king of the floor, but she had passed him off as an urban legend, a draw card of the club. And yet, there he was; standing in front of her with an outstretched hand.

"I do not wish to dance." She replied sharply. "Thank you for the offer but no."

"I'm not asking." was the reply.

"Excuse me?"

"Please accompany me to the courtyard outside? You will be perfectly safe."

Sarah couldn't decide if she had a madman on her hands or a once in a lifetime opportunity. Deciding that it was close enough for someone to hear her scream if something was up, she took his hand and allowed him to lead her outside.

The club had converted the small space between the back of its building and the one next to them, into a small courtyard. It had stopped raining and was warmly lit from the windows surrounding it, the light glittering on the wet stone.

Walter put himself and Sarah into starting position just as the band struck up with the waltz that he had chosen.

"Trust me."

He swept into the first movement and she instinctively followed, her muscle memory and conditioned reflexes allowing her to move with him. Before long, her worries about falling were gone and she was once again lost in the world of music and movement that was her passion in life.

As the music ended, Walter stepped back and gave her a small bow.

"Good evening Miss Harper."

He left her standing there as he vanished back inside, his movements too fast for her to react to. By the time she followed, his table was clear and his jacket gone. She scanned the room for him but found no trace. As she stood there looking, one of her rejected partners came up for one last try.

"May I have this dance?"

The following day a large arrangement of white roses was delivered to the Hellsing manor, the accompanying card written simply with the words: Thank you Mr Dornez. Walter slipped the card into his pocket and took the arrangement through to the dining room where Sir Integra could enjoy their fragrance. As he carried it, Alucard stepped through the wall and spoke in a tone laced with suggestion.

"An admirer at your age, who would have guessed..."

He was laughing as he vanished through the floor and Walter just rolled his eyes and sighed.


End file.
